Looking At Agents
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: She's watching them. Shade, the girl that has always watched them. Always watching Agents, seeing what others don't bother to look at. Agents. Who they are under suits, and behind sunglasses. She's watching them. Ever since they took care of her long ag


Looking At Agents

"Look at them." I say through my cell phone.

"I know, I see them! Get out of there!"

"No, really look at them."

"I see, Agents. That's all."

"That's all you'll ever see if you don't look at them."

"Please, Shade...Get out of there..."

"Just give me a minute."

And I hang up, because I'm tired of trying to explain it to them. All those other people. All those other people who ask, but don't bother to listen. Tired of it.

I can see them from here. I'm watching them. Kneeling, and peering through the hole in the wall, looking out onto the hallway, watching them. The Exit is close, I'll be going home soon. But not yet. I'm watching them.

Those men in suits that aren't men.

You see them, out of the corner of your eye. And somehow they send chills down your back. You don't know why, or how. Then you turn to look at them, but they're gone. And all you remember, is that they were men in suits.

Those men in suits. Even after the war, come for us, and chase us. Even after negotiations are made, we are still a threat to the Matrix. And they protect the Matrix from all threats.

I'm watching them. Watching them stand above my dead friend, who wasn't really my friend. Watching the one that fired the Desert Eagle gun, freeze in place, and stare at the blood that the human body spills. And the other two that stare at it as well.

They're staring at the body, cause the body is staring at them. Watching the human plead for the mercy they barely know in its eyes. They wonder if they'll ever discover mercy. If they'll ever let someone live because they begged for life. Life, so fragile, and so distant to them.

They must be amazed by the blood. After all, they've never seen their own. I'm not even sure Agents can bleed.

I'm watching them. The men in suits.

Then the one Agent lowers his gun, and they still stare.

They're speaking to each other. I know it. Through those earpieces, through a connection they have. And they're analyzing the blood. Using the excuse that they're studying the puncture wounds to themselves.

Every life they end, afterwards they feel nothing.

No regret, or sorrow. Nothing. Hollow. But there is something inside them, making them wonder about things they shouldn't, and think thoughts with no purpose behind them. Agents shouldn't think. But they do. It's starts out simple. Not even sounding like an individual thought.

But it evolves. And it scares them, these thoughts. Because they shouldn't think such things. And they shouldn't be scared, which just makes them more scared. They're scared of thought. Because thought leads to individuality, which leads for an Agent to inefficiency and deletion. Death for an Agent.

Even Agents want to live. Maybe they'll figure that out, and relate to the humans they will kill.

Then they stare at each other. Asking questions to each other, not able to give answers.

They don't even realize they could run now. Rip out those earpieces, and talk to each other through speech. Run away together into Exile. No one would be able to kill them. After all they are Agents.

But they don't know that. Because they don't know about choice. No concept of such thing. Their world is bounded by laws and rules and programming. Yet those things are easily broken. But they don't know that. And they will fear the day they realize it. When they realize they can run. Because that's what Smith did. And they want to be like Smith. Smith is a Virus, and it sickens them to think they could be like that.

Although Exile is of course horrible to an Agent. Once they go into Exile, they will be what they have sought out to destroy. They will be disconnected to the Mainframe, and no longer have a connection between one another. They will be alone with their thoughts. And have to teach themselves how to speak to contact each other.

Horrible for an Agent.

How do I know this? Because I've watched them for so long. Because I've been fascinated by them since I was first freed.

I remember when I was seven, being the little girl I was. My parents had gone missing, as the Agents came for me.

They told me people were after my parents. And those same people were coming after me. They would take me away. Little did I know those people were rebels, and they were going to take me away to Zion.

I remember staring up at the one that spoke to me, in awe. Now I remember, it was Smith that first spoke to me.

Those tall men in suits, that spoke with no love like mom and dad. Tall men that didn't show me their eyes, hidden behind dark shades. Now you know where I got my name.

Smith told me they would protect me from the bad people. He told me to come with them. And the little seven year old girl I was, did. We walked down to the Black Audi, and I grabbed Smith's hand, because I was scared.

He stopped, as if he was offended by the touch, and looked at me with hatred. Then he saw, I was just some little human child. Jones and Brown then looked back to why we had stopped. I think they all were surprised. But Smith nodded to me, and held that little girl's hand.

I held the hand of an Agent, I held the hand of Smith. How many people alive can say the same? I hope I'm the only one.

They drove me to a home, an empty apartment with little furniture and a TV. They took turns watching over me.

Why so much for little me? I was this close to freeing myself. How, I have no idea.

I spent three days with them.

Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Brown, as they told me to address them by.

I remember them. Jones was the tall one, Brown the little one, and Smith...Well everyone knows Smith now. Everyone knows who Smith is, after the war. I guess that's good. He didn't want to die, and now he never will.

Anyway, Brown was the nicest one. He would actually smile at me, and give me ice-cream. He'd speak to me, answer my questions. He said my mom and dad would come back for me.

He didn't tell me, they had long since killed them.

Jones was less spoken, but he seemed amazed by me. Watched every move I took, with great interest. As if he never seen a child, he probably hadn't.

Smith...I completely understand why he acted the way he did with me now. Smith didn't want anything to do with me. He'd give me one command, like "Sit here." And he'd walk away. And if I disobeyed him, well...I didn't disobey him, I was too scared of what he might do to me.

I remember how he acted with Jones and Brown. Always straying away from them, as if he didn't want anything to do with them either. I understand now. Smith had already began to change. Already evolve beyond Jones and Brown. He had the concept of choice. And he chose to die. Then he chose to run into Exile, and rule the world.

Yet I know, Jones and Brown were evolving in their own ways. Maybe if he had just waited for them.

Jones and Brown seemed to stay together when Smith would go ahead of them, because really they were all each other had.

I wonder what they did when they faced deletion.

I hope they're out here, in Exile together. I bet they're searching for Smith, they always seemed lost without him. Soon they'll realize this time Smith will stay dead. And together, they'll make it.

They deserve to make it.

God I hope they aren't dead.

Then soon, rebels finally found me. They were unlike Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Brown. They came to me, and hugged me, taking off their shades. They told me it would be okay.

They told me Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Brown killed my parents. They told me they'll take me somewhere safe, somewhere my parents wanted me to go. So I grabbed their hand, and I ran away with them.

It was Smith who first fired the gun at us.

The rebels carried me, as we ran into the Hearts Hotel. I heard Smith and the others following us. I heard gunshots for the first time. And I didn't scream with fear. I just watched, as the men in suits ran after us.

We ran into a hallway, and it is there, that I stared down at them.

"I'm sorry." I yelled at them.

Then somehow, I don't know how, we lost them. And I chose the red pill, and started my new life, missing Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Brown.

I wonder if they let me go. If they thought I'd be better off. If they cared. If they had formed mercy by then.

I wonder if Jones or Brown missed me. Because I know Smith didn't.

It was then I chose that I wanted to see them again. All three of them. I chose that I would become an officer on a ship, and I would jack into the Matrix, and see them again.

Those men in suits, that fascinated me so much.

And I did. It was Jones and Brown that stopped for a moment, before firing their guns at me. Smith didn't hesitate.

They remembered me.

I began to watch them. Watch them crumble under themselves. Become more and more different from another. I watched Smith smile at every human he killed. And I watched Jones and Brown look at each other, scared for why Smith was smiling.

I watched them. And sooner or later they grew very cute.

And I tried to explain to people, why I did this, why I put my life on the line just to see them. But no one understands when I try to explain.

I wonder if Neo would, after all it's known now Neo had a part of Smith in him. A part of an Agent.

Maybe that's why it felt so familiar when I shook his hand a year ago.

And now I hide, here watching them like I always have.

Such fascinating programs.

I pity them, and wish I could get close enough to hold their hands again.

These Agents are new. Upgrades I heard. I can tell the difference between them and Jones and Brown. I know their names now. Johnson, Thompson, and Jackson. And by the looks of it Jackson is the new Jones, Thompson the new Brown, and Johnson the new Smith.

Then the Exit in the other room starts ringing. And the Agents look up.

"Damn it."

They couldn't wait for me. My own crew couldn't wait for me.

So I get up, and run out of my room, to the hallway where they stand, the phone rings.

They stare at me. Then tilt their heads.

And I know somehow, they remember me. It makes me smile. There is moment where we stare at each other, in silence with a phone ringing.

Then the moment passes, and Johnson pulls up his gun. He doesn't shoot me though. He shoots the phone, then looks at me, lowering his gun.

"Thank you."

I don't fear Agents like everyone else. I pity them. And I wish I could do something for them. But I don't fear them. I never have. Maybe thanking them is all they need.

I get out my cell phone, and start running, out the window, to the nearest Exit.

And the Agents. The Agents stand there, and watch me leave them. Then they stare at each other, and wonder who I am. Maybe this is the beginning of something great for them. Maybe they'll learn mercy. And not to fear it. Maybe they'll run away together.

Maybe not.

That's how it is for them.

That's how they are.

That's who they are.

Agents.

Those men in suits.


End file.
